


Fall

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 18:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13886490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis breaks down, and Noctis comes home.





	Fall

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Ignis works hard to do what he does. He works hard to do it all well. He always has. But it gets to a guy. Can be set in any time period, but I want Noctis looking after/comforting Ignis in the middle of a breakdown/meltdown. And being good at it. Because Noctis cares” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4747.html?thread=9157259#cmt9157259).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He steps into the apartment, climbs out of his shoes, and nearly falls over in the attempt, catching himself just in time with one hand against the wall. A steadying breath, and he’s upright again. Ignis might be trembling. He’s still in a minor state of shock. The speeding red sports car just narrowly missed him on the highway, but even without any impact, it was enough to shake him. It doesn’t help that he didn’t get any sleep last night. The council meeting went on far too long, and by the time it was finished, there were just barely enough hours left to transcribe and consolidate the sort of notes that Noctis will actually absorb. Then it was off to wake Noctis up, make breakfast, drive him to school, and begin the usual slog through one too many chores. A call from the palace to run a few personal errands for the king piled up on top of everything. It’s a wonder he made it back by sunset, and that there’s still time to make Noctis a healthy dinner. A quick one.

Ignis’ heart nearly stops when he steps into the living room. Noctis isn’t home yet—the apartment’s conspicuously silent—but he must’ve stopped in earlier, him and Prompto and maybe Gladiolus, because there’s an enormous amount of refuse all over the place. The living room is a mess, sporting discarded clothes and books and candy rappers, and the kitchenette is an unsightly cesspool. There’s a large orange spill in the middle of the floor, a few knocked over empty noodle cups, and various dirty dishes stacked everywhere. It’s nowhere near sanitary enough to cook around. Ignis will have to clean it all. Then make dinner, conventional enough for Noctis to eat but nutritional enough to keep him healthy. Then clean the rest of the apartment. Then go over the council meeting with Noctis. Then make sure Noctis does his homework. Then go pick up his suit from the dry cleaners, which Ignis can’t believe he forgot to do earlier. Maybe there’ll be time to sleep after. But no, then he’ll have to make his report on Noctis’ studies to the king—

Ignis feels light-headed again. He looks around the small kitchen space anyway, wondering where to start, but he must move his neck too fast, because it just makes him dizzy. He doesn’t know what to do first. He catches himself on the kitchen counter and holds himself up, even though his arm feels numb. Most of his limbs do. His vision’s blurring out around the sides, ears starting to ring, breathing becoming more pronounced, harder. He tells himself _not now._

He can’t afford to be overwhelmed. There’s still so much to do. He’s always managed to do his job no matter how much has fallen on his shoulders, and he’s done it _well_ , and he won’t stop now just because his stomach hurts. He’s catching new symptoms every second. He entertains the traitorous thought that he might have no choice but to lie down. But that would be horribly inappropriate. He’s technically _at work_ , and he can’t sleep in Noctis’ bed. Couldn’t even use Noctis’ couch. It’s not like he hasn’t gone without sleep before. It’s not like he hasn’t taken more stress. It’s not even that he’s _stressed_ anymore, just that his mind is on a dull loop and his skin is feverishly hot, and he slinks to the floor willingly before his knees give out and force him to. 

Over his brain’s own buzzing, he hears a noise in the distance. Then footsteps, and Ignis forces himself to look up as Noctis’ voice casually calls, “Hey, Specs—”

It cuts off when he sees Ignis. He probably isn’t used to seeing Ignis even _sitting down_ , much less on the floor. Aside from meals. Which Ignis needs to make. He tries to lift himself up but finds that his limbs won’t listen to him. 

With a steadily deepening frown, Noctis asks, “What’s wrong?” His voice is flat, no nonsense, demanding of an answer.

Ignis opens his mouth and means to say he’s fine. It’s nothing to worry Noctis over. But he tries to never lie to Noctis, and before he can stop himself, he’s blurted out, “I... might be having a minor panic attack...” he winces as soon as he’s said it. He wants to take it back. Concern instantly swamps Noctis’ youthful features. 

He slowly kneels down next to Ignis and asks, “What can I do to help?”

Ignis shakes his head. There’s nothing that _can_ be done. Ignis just has to get over it. Suck it up and stop being so _useless_. He has a job to do. He’s supposed to be helping Noctis, not becoming a burden, not making Noctis worry, not weighing him down—

A tentative hand lands on Ignis’ shoulder. When Ignis doesn’t react poorly, Noctis carefully leans forward and draws Ignis into him, enveloping Ignis in a gentle, warm hug. It strikes Ignis, suddenly and randomly, how very strong Noctis’ arms feel. Sometimes he forgets that Noctis isn’t a child anymore, isn’t small and helpless. Somehow, the tender embrace does help him. It grounds him. Noctis murmurs against him, “It’s going to be okay, Iggy. Just... don’t worry about doing anything tonight. I’ll clean up. And I’ll make dinner. Or order in, or something. I’ll get something healthy, I promise.”

Ignis wants to protest. But he doesn’t; he’s melted down too far. And it does still his racing pulse and panting breath to hear Noctis tell him _things will be okay_. Maybe he shouldn’t, given the state of the apartment, but he trusts Noctis. And he cares for Noctis. And knowing Noctis care for him enough to hold him like this makes everything else feel unimportant. 

As Noctis carefully pulls back again, he asks, “Should you lie down?”

Ignis should say no, but admits, “I haven’t gotten much sleep.”

“Then you should sleep. Do you want something to eat first, or...?”

Ignis shakes his head, because his stomach hurts and feels like it just wants to expel everything already in it. Resting does sound nice. He shouldn’t. But if his prince tells him to...

Noctis slips an arm around Ignis’ back and helps him to stand. Ignis leans on Noctis more than he probably should, but then he regains himself, and he makes his own way towards the bedroom. Noctis follows right at his side. Noctis doesn’t flick the lights on, and the darkness sort of helps. As Ignis sits down on the corner of the mattress, Noctis plucks his glasses off and sets them on the nightstand. 

“Call me if you need anything,” Noctis tells him, again in that firm tone that makes it an _order_ , one Ignis wouldn’t dare defy.

Ignis mutters anyway, “I’m deeply sorry, I hardly meant to—”

“No,” Noctis interrupts, “don’t apologize. You take care of everything for me, and the least I can do is return the favour once in a while. Seriously. Call me for _anything_. Even just... a hug or whatever. I’ll leave the door open so I can hear you.”

Ignis begrudgingly nods. Noctis ducks in to give him another hug, and this time, Ignis returns it, clutching to Noctis perhaps a little bit too tightly. It’s more of a comfort than Noctis will ever know. 

But Ignis still releases Noctis. Noctis gives him a reassuring smile. Noctis leaves. Ignis lies down and closes his eyes, and eventually, the tremours all recede.


End file.
